One Day Too Late
by Little Henchman of J B. M
Summary: A few months ago, Jennifer Wallace's mother died and her dad was already dead. Her cousin Shawn and Uncle Henry tried to fight for her custody, thinking her other Uncle Sherlock would do badly in taking care of her. But in her mother's will, it said that she would be left with him. So Jennifer is shipped to London, and what's John got to say when he finds a girl in their flat?


**A/N: Hey guys. Yeah. I stopped writing my Transformers fic, it's kind of on an extended hiatus. Sorry for those of you who actually **_**liked**_** it… I just lost feeling in it. ****Honestly, you should blame Young Justice.**

**Here's a Sherlock fic I've been working on since I started watching it. (I'm in love with that show now XD But I don't **_**love**_** any of the characters. Anyway, enjoy!**

**I do not own Sherlock **

It has simply been a regular day at the flat. Nothing was different, as far as John could tell. He had only left for two hours for a small date with a new girl. She was a new excitable one named Karen. Maybe she was a keeper, who would know. Or maybe Sherlock would scare this one off. Again.

John sighed as he unlocked the door on Baker St. He expected nothing different than from when he left. Meaning, Sherlock either not realizing he had left, or Sherlock conducting some sort of sick experiment on yet another body part. Possibly both.

Thumping upstairs, he prepared for the ill grossness of the usual, but instead heard small piano playing. He frowned. They didn't have a piano. Neither did Mrs. Hudson. As far as he'd known, no one in 221B owned one. Had Sherlock gone off bored and bought one? He couldn't have. He didn't even know how to play.

As the piano song continued, John noted that it wasn't a real large one. Probably an electric one or music was playing from a laptop. John continued upstairs curiously wondering what Sherlock was doing this time. He continued to the door and opened it abruptly.

"Sherlock, I'm ba—" he began, but was cut off by something he saw.

Sherlock was doing his usual, sitting at the desk, hunched over on his laptop with a… _hand_, not his, a severed one, in a beaker with some blue liquid next to him. But that wasn't what caused John to hesitate in his words. That was something he had sadly gotten used to over time.

As the consulting detective just sat, tapping away, a young girl sat on the couch with a small electric piano. She was a petite girl, who couldn't possibly be a year over twelve or her early teens. Her hair was a short girl cut, only to her jaw, and swept over her eyes. In front of her eyes (in which John couldn't see), were a pair of rectangle framed glasses.

"Yes, what is it John?" Sherlock asked impatiently, not even glancing up at him or the girl.

Immediately, the girl stopped playing her piano with a jump and turned her head to John curiously. Now that she was looking at him, John could see that her eyes were a light green and her face held a small amount of freckles. Under her left eye was a light skinned scar, about an inch long.

"Sherlock…" John began, annoyedly, "There is a girl on the couch. With a piano."

"And?"

John took in a deep breath, obviously exasperated. How could his flat mate _not_ be disturbed by young teenage girl in his flat. Then again, it wasn't too hard to believe that Sherlock hadn't taken any notice to her. He was simply Sherlock.

John began to speak again, but was stopped by the girl who gave him a shy, apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Watson. I should introduce myself." She said, moving the piano of her lap and walking up to him, "I'm Jennifer Wallace."

He looked down at her blankly. _Jennifer_ wore a yellow t-shirt with a cartoon bumblebee along with dark blue jeans. Where she had been sitting was a blue jean jacket, he inferred that it was hers.

She stuck his hand out to him shyly, waiting for him to shake it.

"A-Ah… hello, Jennifer." John replied politely, unsurely taking her hand with a small shake.

Sherlock swiftly jumped of his chair, which had been sitting in with a crouched position and walked over to the two.

"Great! Introductions are done and over with, now we can get on with it." He said excitedly, whilst grabbing his coat from the door behind John.

"Wait, wait, wait." The ex-military doctor yelped, coming out of his daze, "_Why_ is she- _Jennifer_ here?"

"Well simply infer it, John!" Sherlock sighed, looking at him as if it were an obvious thing.

"Well simply infer on what, Sherlock?" he retorted, rubbing his forehead, "What can I infer on a twelve yea—"

"Actually," the small girl piped up, looking between both men, "I'm fourteen going on fifteen."

John stared back at Jennifer once again. She was clearly under-height then. He had no more _'deductions'_ he could think of on her. What was there to make of it? She was just there in their flat playing a bloody electric piano.

"Honestly, John! Is it that hard to figure out?! Look at her carefully."

Jennifer began to shift her footing uncomfortably and shyly. He noticed a small limp in her right leg, so that was one more deduction he _could_ make. She had an ankle injury, most likely a sprained ankle at the most. Huffing, he looked at her harder. That's when he noticed something.

She had the same sort of glint in her eyes as Sherlock and seemed to have a similar slim figure. He thought back to her way of speech, and noticed her tone was much like Sherlock's, but much nicer and calmer. Then it hit him. Could she be…?

"Dear god, Sherlock is she your-?" John gasped, assuming the very worst.

"No! Jennifer's not my daughter. That'd be ridiculous!" he retorted impatiently.

Now feeling the awkward tension, Jennifer began to fiddle with a bracelet on her left hand. A small, simple medal chained one with what seemed to be a Kid Flash symbol as a charm. It jingled lightly hitting against her nails.

"For god's sakes, John! Look at her! From your earlier conclusion I can tell you noticed _some_ similarities between me and Jennifer. But, we're not related in the form that she's my spawn. Her eyes are green, mine are blue. Her skin is darker than mine, though that could mean I've been indoors longer, but I highly doubt that reasoning. Her hair is the same color, but is dyed a little meaning its original color was likely a lighter brown. Being a doctor, you also should've notice a limp in her leg. Though she does seem like a clumsy one, which she is, you should be able to tell that's from no fall or fight. Car accident. Scar under her eye, not too old. Age fourteen, too short to be mine too. Jennifer Wallace is my _niece,_ John, my _niece, _get on with it!"

"Y-Your _niece_?" John sputtered, coming to realization, "I didn't know Mycroft had a—"

"I am not that dick head's daughter!" Jennifer suddenly spat, with a fleeting expression of annoyance on her face.

"Langauge." He shot at her strictly without thinking

"Sorry Mr. Watson." She mumbled sheepishly.

John began to hit confusion again. Sherlock didn't have any other family members other than Mycroft as far as he'd known.

He groaned realizing what was wrong with that thought.

_**As far as he'd known**_.

"Damn it, Sherlock! Why didn't you tell me you had another brother or sister?!"

"Sister. Delialah Wallace, married to the dead marine, Tucker Wallace. And you didn't ask, that's why I didn't say. Died four months ago in a simple car accident. Boring."

For Jennifer this was just awkward. She just stared blankly and confused between the two men. Her being the consulting detective's niece, she was somewhat used to his odd and rude comments. But to have another man here too… it was like they were an old married couple. Then a question popped in her head.

"Uncle Sherlock?"

"Yes?" Sherlock replied dully, turning to her.

"Are you guys gay?"

**A/N: See, now **_**that**_** wasn't too bad. Maybe a little on short side, but it felt right to end it at that question XP. Please don't kill me! Review if you'd like! You could be like me. Meaning you liked the story but don't like/are too lazy to write reviews :P I totally understand that. Ciao! **

**P.S. Any suggestions for OCs? Only taking two at the moment. One male, one female, the same age as Jenny, here.**


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